Our Final Curtain
by Phoebonica
Summary: Lemony and Olaf both know it shouldn't end like this. But they can't work out how it is supposed to end. T for language and dark themes.


Disclaimer: Daniel Handler owns these characters and I'm not getting paid to write this or anything.

**Our Final Curtain**

Lemony paused outside the door to the ward, one hand checking his VISITOR badge for the seventh time in half an hour. Really, he knew it was irrational of him – the pin was securely fastened, not about to fall open and leave him to be manhandled into a cell, and even if a misunderstanding like that did happen, which it couldn't, it would be cleared up within a few hours at the most. He wasn't a wanted man any longer. He hadn't been for years.

"Mr Snicket?" one of the guards asked, as the other one unlocked the door. "You're sure you want to go through with this?"

The guard unlocking the door had one of those key rings with hundreds of keys sticking out in all directions like a sea anemone, and they clattered together in the cold, grating way that prison keys always had. Lemony steadied himself against the grey concrete wall with one hand, breathing slowly. "I'm sure," he said, and tried not to flinch as the door creaked open.

This room was grey as well, of course, and the smell of disinfectant was even stronger than in a regular hospital. He'd always suspected that was deliberate, a form of extra punishment. His shoes clicked against the tiled floor, the only sound in the room apart from the beeps and whirs of various machines. The two guards hung back by the door, alert but keeping their distance now as he walked the last few steps to the bed. It seemed to take him hours, yet he was there sooner than he'd expected, looking down for the first time in years at its occupant.

He'd lost weight, if that was even possible, the one arm that was visible above the covers like a pale branch from a long-fallen tree. His skin was almost colourless, translucent, like melted wax or rice paper, and his eyes were closed. If he hadn't been very obviously breathing, harsh rasping breaths that seemed to echo in the small room, Lemony would have thought his visit had come too late.

This was his last chance, then, to change his mind, make a run for it. He cleared his throat, instead, and spoke.

"Hello, Olaf."

* * *

Dreaming again, then. Had to be. The voice had seemed real enough, but there was no way he could have just opened his eyes and seen the so-very-tragic-and-noble-and-respected author Lemony Snicket standing by his bedside for all the world as if he'd come to visit a sick acquaintance. Pretty vivid dream, though. It even had that big red plastic thing they made the visitors wear, and the tiny beads of sweat on Lemony's forehead and the way he was linking his fingers together the way he did when he didn't know what to do with his hands. Maybe all the drugs they'd stuck him on were making him see things. About time they did something.

Not that it mattered. Gift horses to water or whatever the hell that saying was.

Olaf grinned, slowly, drawing it out. The look he'd practiced for years, the one that made people raise a hand to their throats without even realising. Just what Lemony was doing now. _Still got it_, although technically in a fantasy it didn't count but why ruin it? This was perfect.

"Lemony." His best fake-charming voice, relishing each syllable. Timing, timing was everything. Hold it just long enough for Lemony's eyes to go wide, his face just one shade paler as he realised what a _horrible_ mistake he'd made. Long enough for him to take the tiniest step backwards, as if he really thought he had a chance to get away before Olaf sprang, bearing him shrieking to the floor, hands locking round his throat as he writhed and thrashed and –

None of that was happening. His arms were barely strong enough to let him sit up, let alone strangle anybody, and even that little bit of movement left him dizzy. Which meant this wasn't a dream.

Which meant it was actually happening.

Which meant…

"What the hell are you doing here?" Olaf snapped, breaking character and sinking back on to the pillow.

* * *

"They told me you wanted to see me." Lemony was relieved to find he didn't _sound_ nervous. He'd have been satisfied with simply being audible, although it was strange that his feelings on seeing Olaf again only extended to "nervous". "Pure overwhelming terror" would have been more what he expected.

Olaf scowled. "That's because they're idiots. What I _said_ was I'd like half an hour alone with you, and what that stupid nurse was expecting me to ask for was the bedpan or another goddamn fruit cup or something."

"Oh." That did explain a lot. Lemony sat down on the plastic chair beside the bed, hands linked together in his lap. "Well. Anyway. I'm here now."

There was a silence, underscored by beeping. Lemony looked down at his fingers.

"So," he said.

"You didn't answer my question," Olaf said. His voice was even more hoarse than usual. Of course it would be. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you." He should be looking in Olaf's direction by now at least, but somehow he couldn't. One of the floor tiles was cracked. He looked at that instead.

Olaf gave a short, bitter laugh. "Ha. Don't like to admit it? Doesn't work with the whole tortured soul bit?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lemony said, which was true, although Olaf was right that he hadn't answered the question. Hearing about his condition had been a shock, and hearing that he'd asked to see his old enemy again had been a bigger one, but just that wouldn't have been enough to induce him to actually come. There was another reason. It just wasn't one he knew how to articulate.

"No point coming if you're going to be coy about it," Olaf said. "Unless you're going for the subtle approach. Personally if things were the other way round I'd have spat in your face by now, but you know me, I like the spectacle."

Lemony did look at him then, stunned. "Are you – are you suggesting," he demanded, when he could form a complete sentence, "that I've come here to – to gloat? To torment you? Is that really what you think this is?"

Olaf glared at him, eyes glinting with their old menace. Lemony shivered. There was terror after all, uncoiling at the base of his spine. "I am _so sick_," Olaf hissed, "of your prissy little do-gooder _whining_. You'd _never_ have such nasty, horrid thoughts because you're so much _kinder_ and _nobler_ and _better_ than everyone else but I know you and all your little orphan friends are just jumping around in excitement now that the wicked old Count's finally almost gone and you, you _sit_ there and you have the _fucking nerve_ to act like I don't know what it is you're doing so just _say it_, Lemony! _Say the damn words_!"

"I don't…" Lemony stammered. "I – I'm not…"

"_Say it!_" Olaf roared, and stopped breathing.

* * *

_No. Damn it, _no_. Not this. Not now._

The pain only lasted for a couple of seconds, but two seconds was a hell of a long time when you felt like someone had just lit a book of matches inside your chest, and that was on top of the _other_ pain which was there all the time so you didn't even notice it until something like this happened. It was worse when the two seconds was up, of course. That was the part where he finally got some air and it came in with this stupid whooping noise, and then the coughing started, slamming him against the bed, like trying to get sandpaper out of his throat.

It hurt, yeah, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Except the two goons by the door seemed to think it was their business, and he'd choke himself to death before he let anyone rush in and "save" him in front of Lemony. Who looked like he was about to start bawling for help himself. Great. Olaf growled between coughs and tried to make the "zip it" gesture across his mouth – he'd been about to do the throat-slitting one, but that could have backfired on him – and eventually managed to get his breathing under control.

The guards traded looks and stepped back into position – _false alarm_. Lemony was perched on the edge of his seat, staring with big round horrified eyes like he'd never seen anyone cough before. Olaf fixed him with the go-to-hell look again as if nothing had happened. _I'm _waiting_, you son of a bitch._

The glare wasn't really working, though. Lemony wasn't looking in his face any more; he was staring down at the bed sheets instead. Olaf looked down too, to see what was so fascinating, and there were tiny red dots. Some of them hadn't been there before. He gulped, a little, so no one could hear.

"I'm glad," Lemony said, sounding like he was reading off a list. "I'm glad you're dying."

Olaf sneered. "That didn't sound very convincing."

"Because it's not _true_!" Lemony moaned, pressing his hands against the sides of his head, fingers splayed out. "For heaven's sake, Olaf, what do you want from me?"

"What do I want?" _I want fame, I want riches, I want to beat you to death with your own typewriter, I want out of this goddamn _bed_…_ "I'll tell you what I want," Olaf said, slowly. "I want an apology."

"For what?" Lemony lowered his hands, actually looking irritated. "I can't apologise for telling the truth. Your own crimes are what put you here, Olaf, not me. I'm not responsible for anything you did, and I'm not sorry for exposing you."

"Maybe not," Olaf said, and did the glare again. "But you know damn well I know how to spell."

* * *

"What?"

He didn't mean to say "what". He knew what. The word just came out of his mouth automatically, not because he didn't understand what Olaf meant but because it was something he hadn't even thought of. He'd never considered it and now, looking down at that bed, he knew it was important and probably obvious.

"You know what I'm talking about," Olaf said, sounding as though he'd like to shout again and couldn't, and Lemony nodded, because he did.

"I never made anything up," he said, which was true, but even to him it sounded hollow. "I never added a single event, I never speculated if I could avoid it. Everything I wrote was based on evidence, and I found every last bit of evidence that I could."

"Oh, I believe you. You never had to lie, not when you could tell the truth so well the way you wanted it told. All in the presentation, isn't it? And it helps if you can forget a couple of things, like how it's harder to spell something without writing it down. Or how I was always better at anagrams than you." Olaf smirked, which was somehow worse than when he'd been yelling. "_Stupid_ thing to do, Lemony. God, I could've ripped your credibility to shreds with that."

Lemony gasped before he could stop himself. Olaf laughed. "Oh, yeah, you were _this_ close. Only guess who had the public on their side by that time. Lucky you."

"You make it all sound so calculated." It was astonishing, how calm his voice still sounded. "It was never my intention to – manipulate anyone."

"Oh, sure. You only cared about the facts. You were so objective…"

"Rather hard to be objective when you _destroyed my life_!"

Olaf jerked back in surprise. Lemony shared the feeling. He was shaking, could barely feel the chair underneath him, watching his own sudden fury as though it were someone else shouting the words he hadn't expected to say. "You took everything I ever loved, you left me a fugitive and an exile, you killed Beatrice and Jacques and you burned and stole and – you expect me to feel like a hypocrite for being biased? Maybe I am, but what's in those books isn't one-tenth of how much you disgust me. You – you…" He couldn't go on, voice failing as the unaccustomed anger drained away and a far more familiar emotion rose in its place. _Oh, no_. He closed his eyes, wiping tears away roughly with the back of his hands. _Not this again. Not now.

* * *

_

"You know, for a moment there I thought you'd actually grown a spine," Olaf muttered. He had better lines than that for this kind of situation, but he couldn't bring himself to care any more. Too tired. He could see where the rest of this conversation was about to go, and it didn't interest him much.

Lemony opened his eyes enough to see him. "What did you…?"

"You heard." Olaf rolled on to his back, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm amazed it took you this long to turn on the waterworks. And you think _I'm_ disgusting."

Of course he'd act wounded. "It's not as though I'm proud of it. You think I _want_ you to see me break down?"

"Why else would you do it in front of me?"

Lemony stopped blubbering and gaped at him. "You really _don't know_, do you?" he said after a while. "I'm not hiding. I'm not _acting_. I don't have any ulterior motive for being here, except…"

Despite himself, Olaf was curious. This was different from Lemony's usual whining, even if he couldn't figure out how. "Except what?" he said, and didn't snarl it quite as much as he'd meant to.

Lemony wiped his eyes again and rested his hands on his knees, looking down at them as he took a deep breath. "Fear," he said. "If you must know. I'm scared."

It was Olaf's turn to be lost for words. No way could he just have heard that. If Lemony'd still been crying he might have believed it, if he'd whimpered for his mommy like usual, but he sounded so composed, like it was nothing. Or not nothing, but like… he didn't really care what Olaf thought about it. Which was just unnerving.

And aggravating. Lemony had no _right_ to throw him off, damnit, it was meant to be the other way round and now Olaf was the one gaping like a moron because all he could think to say was _well, how the hell do you think _I_ feel?_ Maybe that was Lemony's plan with all this confession stuff, in which case he'd come too close to falling for it. Far too close.

"Oh, poor thing," he said instead, which was lame and he knew it. Lemony didn't seem to notice though, even looked embarrassed. What _was_ his game here? Maybe he was a better actor than anyone knew.

Maybe he really wasn't faking.

Olaf started feeling sick. More than usual.

"This is wrong," Lemony said. "It shouldn't be like this. It shouldn't end this way. I don't know what way it should end, but you're not supposed to – I don't want you to be dying like this."

"That makes two of us," Olaf snapped – that was all right, he'd be expecting that, it didn't give anything away. He pulled the blankets up over his hands. Probably they were only shaking from the medication, but Lemony didn't get to see that. Not now, not ever.

He was shaking his head, hands spread and wavering in mid-air like they didn't know where to go or what to do next. "Look, I don't… I'm not… the reason I'm here… I once wrote that even though we know everyone dies some day, it's always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. That it's like falling, missing a step on a staircase and falling, having to readjust everything you knew because of the one thing that isn't there any more. And even writing that, I didn't realise – that it's always like that, even when you know how it is. No matter how many people you've lost before. No matter who it is this time. That's why I came, because…" He raised his head, looking Olaf in the eyes. "Because I'm going to miss you."

* * *

There was no sound, except the two of them breathing. And bleeps, but the bleeps didn't count, he couldn't really hear those. Olaf seemed to have gone even paler. "You're serious," he said, and then gave an abrupt snort of laughter. "I guess the Punctilio was right all along. You're crazy. I finally drove you crazy."

Lemony shook his head. "No. I don't think so. It's not affection. But you took everything I had, and – "

"And I loved it," Olaf interrupted. The bravado of the old days was back in his voice, the nauseating smugness, but Lemony could see beyond it now and that made his stomach twist even more. "Most fun I ever had by myself. So what's with the eulogy?"

"You took everything I had," Lemony repeated, "and that meant that for a very long time, you were all I had. All I cared about. Bringing you to justice. It – it pretty much kept me alive."

Olaf rolled his eyes. "Now you tell me. I'd have got advanced lung failure sooner, if I'd known you – "

"_Stop that!_" Lemony yelled, jumping to his feet. "Just _shut up_! I know that's not all there is to you! I wanted to see you as more than a vicious monster. I wanted to tell you I forgive you. But I _don't_. I _can't_. You go out of your way to be repellent and – and – and I _hate_ you, Olaf, I hate you and I'll_ never be able to stop!_"

For a moment, just for a moment, Olaf looked uneasy. For a moment the two of them seemed frozen, suspended in time, and Lemony couldn't hear anything at all. Then Olaf shrugged, and it all came crashing back. "So?" he said. "Am I supposed to give a crap? Apart from hoping that it eats you up inside and you swallow a bottle of drain cleaner. That, I'd be interested in."

Lemony shut his eyes, feeling hot tears spill out of them again, not bothering to hide them this time. "There's really no point in my staying here, is there?" he said, mostly to himself.

He could _hear_ Olaf smirking. "Nope."

* * *

_Finally_, he'd taken the hint. Although it took him a hell of a long time to actually leave. He kept glancing back over his shoulder, as if he thought Olaf might change his mind and decide he wanted to sit through, okay, lie down through, another quarter of an hour's worth of whining.

It wasn't till the door closed that it dawned on Olaf he was probably acting like that because he didn't plan on coming back.

Hah. Good riddance.

Olaf rolled over and tried to get back to sleep. He'd been having a lot of dreams lately – good and bad, but even the bad ones were less boring than everything when he was awake. Maybe he'd dream about Lemony after all - that drain cleaner thing, that had been a good one. If anyone deserved to go like that, screaming in agony for days…

_As opposed to wheezing in agony for months?_

Olaf snarled, and pulled the blankets over his head. Damn Lemony Snicket. Damn him to rot in hell.

* * *

Lemony heard the door click shut behind him and slumped against the opposite wall, hands across his face. One of the guards, the younger one, came over to him as the other one locked up. "Mr Snicket? Are you all right?"

"No," Lemony said. "No, I'm not. There – there's really nothing anyone can do for him?"

"I'm afraid not," the guard said, which Lemony knew was just an expression. It had nothing to do with actual fear.

Still, he nodded behind his hands. "So am I."


End file.
